Fighting Against The Odds
by MahoganyParadox
Summary: What happens when the nations of Hetalia are trapped in the Hunger Games universe with only very dim memories of their previous lives? A T-rated crossover fanfic, that's what! If you have any suggestions, please review and tell me.
1. Arrival

**Hi! This is my first fanfiction. I hope you like it; I'm not a particularly good writer or anything. Constructive criticism is much appreciated.**

* * *

District One

The fiery summer sun shone down on the first district of Panem as a certain Francis Bonnefoy waited impatiently amidst the crowds. _Can't they just get it over with?_ he wondered. Of course, it made sense for the twelve-to-eighteen year-olds to attend: after all, they were the ones being reaped. But he was twenty-six, for heaven's sake! And he'd been there for what, two hours? Two and a half, possibly.

_How boring. Will they ever start?_

As if on cue, the mayor took the stage at that exact moment.

"Welcome, one and all, to the official District One reaping for the hundredth annual Hunger Games!" There was tremendous applause from the audience. "As you know, this year marks the fourth-ever Quarter Quell. Exactly one hundred years ago, the Dark Days were put to an end by our glorious government. Now, it is time to repay our debt by sending our tributes to the renowned tournament that is the Games. Live from the Capitol, I give you — President Snow!

The screen behind the mayor lit up with the image of Panem's leader.

_It's remarkable, really. He's a hundred and twelve years old. Then again, Capitol science these days can extend humans' lifespan for a good half-century. A sharp contrast when the life expectancy in the districts averages about forty-five. _

As the cheers died down, the president started speaking. Francis didn't pay much attention to his words. _Country... Honour... Magnificent... Glory... Hunger Games... Districts... Envelope... Wait, envelope. He's going to draw the card. _

Clearing his throat, the man opened the folded paper and read:

"In the fourth Quarter Quell, there shall be only twelve tributes, one from each district. Each one shall be a male between the ages of nineteen and thirty-one."

Francis stared at the screen in shock. _You must be joking._ So he actually might get reaped? He didn't want to die...

_Okay, calm down. There are probably thousands of 19-to-31-year-olds in the district. It will be a cold day in hell before I am picked._

The mayor stepped up to the single glass bowl. He pulled out one of the slips.

_See? It won't be me._

"And our tribute is Francis Bonnefoy!"

* * *

District Two

Alfred lay back on the reclining couch. _These thingies are cool!_ he thought, fiddling with the switch. Back...forth...back...forth... Nobody was going to visit him anyways — he had been separated from his parents at a young age to train for the Games, and he had no close friends despite being quite popular — so he had a good half hour of free time with the fun chair. _Might as well enjoy myself while I still can. _

A Peacekeeper opened the door.

"Hey dude! Is my time up already?"

The uniformed man nodded. "And someone sent you a gift."

"Cool! What is it?"

Just then, the guards escorted Alfred out of the room. He was marched to the train station. The Peacekeeper he had spoken to earlier gave him a small paper bag. He opened it.

"Awesome! A hamburger! Thanks anonymous nice person!"

The cameras started flashing. He posed for them, his mouth too full of burger to talk.

_Wow! I didn't know being a tribute comes with so many perks! First the couch, then the hamburger, and now a place in the spotlight!_

He tried to ignore the fact that all this fun would eventually end. He would be thrown into a deadly arena with eleven brutes who wanted to kill him.

_But of course, I can totally beat all of them! Because I'm the... the..._

_For some weird reason, I can't find the right word to finish the sentence. Somehow I feel I should know it. Whatever, I'll figure it all out once the Games are over!_

* * *

District Three

_The tribute train is fascinating. It's so spacious, I have one car all to myself. The walls are covered with buttons of a variety of shapes and colours, which all perform different actions. I can speak into a microphone and whatever I ask for shows up within thirty seconds. And the train travels so fast! The landscapes whizz by in a flash. At this rate, I'll be at the Capitol before six o'clock. That's when I'll see my opponents for the first time..._

_To be honest, I don't think I have much of a chance in these Games. I'm not very strong, or fast, or manipulative. I'm only talented in intellectual domains, and the Hunger Games are basically all about physical power. Oh well. I just hope I'm not the first one out. _

Suddenly, Eduard felt the train slowing down. He glanced out the window — and what he saw took his breath away. The Capitol was beautiful. Tall, modern-looking glass structures created a spectacular metropolitan skyline. A rainbow of lights reflected off the clean streets, where citizens strolled about wearing flamboyant clothing. The train continued to zip by, until the Tribute Building was just up ahead.

* * *

District Four

Kiku Honda sighed. His stylist had yet to come, which left him some time to reflect on the situation. And the current situation was one he definitely hadn't expected. Yes, he had gone through seven years of Career training. That was when he learned how to fight. How to throw a spear, set a trap, snap a neck. He was quite good at fighting, too. Armed with his weapon of choice — a katana — there practically wasn't a thing he couldn't take down.

Yet cruelty was not in his nature. He could kill viciously when he wanted to, but deep down he never liked it...

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of his stylist.

* * *

**Well, that's it for Chapter One. If you're wondering why the hell the Hetalians are in the HG universe, it will become clear eventually.**

**I know everyone's terribly OOC, but I only started watching Hetalia a few weeks ago, and don't have a clue what the characters' thoughts are like.**

**Please tell me if I should continue this story... Thank you! Oh, and if you have suggestions for a title, please tell me.**


	2. Parade

**Presenting Chapter Two! Thanks to Luna Sibuna of North Italy, xAwesome-Saucex, and Promethia the Shieldmaiden for your great reviews.**

******By-the-by, I do not own Hetalia, THG, or anything except for this story. I forgot to put that in the Chapter One A/N, but I kinda thought it'd be obvious enough.**

* * *

District Five

"The tributes' costumes are supposed to reflect their district industry. Since you are from District Five, you will wear something that has to do with power plants", said the stylist, Quantia, as she unveiled Ivan's outfit for the parade.

_The clothes are quite simple, and resemble what our workers wear back home. Or at least, what I remember them wearing. A grey jumpsuit underneath blue tweed overalls. However, the jumpsuit is lined with small circular patches of a material I have never seen before. How interesting. _

He dressed quickly and turned to glance in the mirror. _I suppose this will be rather ordinary compared to what some other tributes must be wearing. _

"Wait, I'm not done yet", interjected the stylist. She pulled out a device from her pocket and pressed a button. Instantly, the costume seemed to come to life. Blue sparks of electricity danced around Ivan, intensifying his purple aura.

"Now," said a grinning Quantia, "you are ready for the parade."

* * *

District Six

Ludwig Beilschmidt climbed onto the chariot. Instantly, the horses began to move. He felt a tugging sensation in the pit of his stomach. It wasn't nervousness or anticipation, but something more. He managed to catch himself before he fell off the platform. _This is strange._

As the twelve chariots converged into the City Centre, Ludwig gasped. These tributes... They looked so familiar, even from afar. The pull increased, to the point where he was tempted to go over and trample them.

_It's as if I knew them... But that can't be. I've never gone outside of District Six before._

The man from District One was in a majestic blue cape studded with jewels. Next to him, the one from Two was eagerly waving to the crowds in his grey armour. _What armour has to do with stonemasonry, I do not know. _The Three was wearing a dark green coat with wire designs. Four had on a white military suit with his district badge and a fishing net. Five sported an electrician's outfit crackling with sparks. For some reason, he was also wearing a long winter scarf.

Someone threw a rose into his chariot. He caught it reflexively. Looking up to throw it back, he realized that they were on live television. _And I didn't even notice? Brilliant._ Reminding himself that sponsors would be useful in the Games, he smiled and waved to the cheering crowds. As soon as the president's speech began, though, he continued examining the other tributes.

Eight was wrapped in a spool of thread. Nine... There was something special about Nine. His eyes were squeezed shut, hidden behind his auburn hair, and his mouth was stretched in a huge grin. He looked so carefree, so happy. Not exactly the ideal mood for a tribute. Still, Ludwig felt inexplicably fond of this boy.

The tribute from District Ten was absent. Eleven was rather gregarious, and Twelve appeared aloof and uninterested in it all.

Ludwig breathed a sigh of relief as the president's speech ended and the chariots rolled back into the Tribute Building.

* * *

District Seven

Matthew Williams sat quietly at the table, watching the men on television discuss this year's tributes.

"Did you see what he was wearing? Very original."

_No, I didn't. Should I care?_

"Wasn't it surprising that there were no volunteers this year?"

_Not really. You'd have to be suicidal to volunteer for a Quarter Quell._

"How about that other guy? You know, the one in the silver armour?"

_The one from Two?_ "He looks exactly like me."

"He does, doesn't he?"

Matthew jumped surprisedly, unaware that he'd been talking out loud.

"I said, he does look like you", repeats Loryx, his mentor.

"I guess..."

"It's like you're twins or something."

_Twins? That sounds somehow right, eh? I don't have siblings, or at least I think I don't. I'm not sure. I can't remember anything from my past in District Seven. I don't know who I am. All I know is that they call me Matthew Williams, and I'm supposedly a nineteen-year-old kid from the lumber district. It makes sense, sort of, but I can't shake off the feeling that I'm someone else..._

"Matthew! Are you zoning out again? I know you're nervous about the Games, but how can you not enjoy this delicious roast duck?"

He smiled apologetically and returned to reality.

* * *

District Eight

After dinner, Yao Wang went to the garden. It was a large, spacious greenhouse, where the soft tinkling of wind chimes filled the air. _A nice place to reflect on this strange day. _

"Hi!" called an unfamiliar voice.

He whirled around. It was the tribute from Five. "Hello", he replied on a guarded tone. The other man was large-boned and strong. _It would really be too easy for him to kill me once the Games begin._

"There is no need to be frightened! I do not mean you any harm."

_Well, seeing as he is not allowed to hurt me before we enter the arena, I may as well talk to him and try to assess his strengths and weaknesses._

"All right."

"So, what is your favourite flower?"

_Out of all the questions he could possibly have asked..._

"I don't know, aru."

"Personally, I am quite fond of sunflowers." The tall man was smiling, a wide, slightly unnerving smile.

"That's interesting. I once knew someone who liked them as well..."

"Tell me about that person?" He said it as more of a statement than a question.

"I don't really remember, aru. I've somehow forgotten many people and events in my life..."

"Really? That is strange. I seem to have a similar, but somewhat lesser, form of amnesia." Yao was about to interrogate him on the matter, but decided against it. _He might feel suspicious. Better to stick to casual questions for now._

"So, do you know your name?"

"Da. I am told that it is Ivan Braginsky. And you?"

"Yao Wang... Wait, what did you say? What does 'da' mean?"

"I am pretty sure that it signifies 'yes'. I am not aware of where I learned it, or where I got my accent. No one else speaks in the manner I do."

"Ah. I also seem to talk in a peculiar way. For example, I unwittingly add the sound 'aru' to the end of my sentences."

"Is this not fascinating?"

"Y-yes, I mean n-no, I mean, i-it is very fascinating."

"Good! I think I shall leave now. Best of luck to you in training tomorrow!"

"Likewise, Ivan."

The large blonde departed, leaving Yao in a daze of sorts. _Why is he so terrifying? And he seems to glow in a strange purple light..._

_I really must get to bed._


	3. Inescapable

**Sorry for not posting this sooner. I was rather busy with schoolwork.**

* * *

District Nine

Feliciano Vargas sprang cheerfully out of bed. _We start training today! _He checked his closet to see what new clothes would appear. A black t-shirt with red trim and a matching pair of sports pants. After pulling the clothes on, he pushed a button to get breakfast. _Mmm, Capitol food is really yummy! _

Finishing his meal, Feliciano skipped downstairs for training. Most of the tributes were already there. He wandered around the different stations. _Knots? Too tricky. Spears? They could hurt people. Maces? Hard to lift..._

He settled for the camouflage station. There were all kinds of paints there, in a lot of pretty colours. _What to draw?_ He took out a jar of deep blue and dipped his finger inside. _This is fun!_ Starting one stroke at a time, he sketched the outline of a circle on the floor, humming a tune from long, long ago. He wasn't quite sure where it came from, but it made him feel nostalgic.

"Hey, it's the crazy kid!"

He looked up to see a scary man in a mask laughing down at him. _It's the District Eleven guy!_

"Please don't kill me! Pretty please!" he yelled, panicking.

"Oh, well aren't you a brave one. Too bad cowardice isn't going to help you in the Hunger Games." The tribute snarled.

"Leave him alone, Sadiq. Can't you find something better to do?" A tall blond man walked over to help him up. The Eleven turned around and left, but not before flashing him a murderous look.

"Ve ~ Thank you!" said Feliciano, ecstatic. "I'm Feliciano Vargas! Nice to meet you." He had a strong feeling he'd met this man before. "What's your name?"

Ludwig suddenly seemed a bit embarrassed. He stammered out "I-I'm Ludwig, n-nice to meet you, t-too", then walked away hurriedly.

_What's wrong? I hope I didn't scare him..._

* * *

District Ten

It was on the afternoon of his sixth day at the Capitol that Heracles Karpusi decided to explore around a little. The building was huge, after all, and there weren't many days left before the Games. _What will the arena be like? It's sure to be extra deadly, considering that this is a Quarter Quell year. And the tributes are all grown men... I just hope I don't die too painfully._ He came to a large room with tall windows and a podium in the back. _Maybe it's an auditorium or something. Whatever._ He was about to leave when he heard a meow. A cat! Heracles looked for the source of the purring. Sure enough, a large tabby was stationed outside.

_I don't suppose they'll mind if I'm just gone for a little while... _

He slipped out the window and landed on all fours. The cat ran off towards the city, startled.

"Hey little thing, come back here. Where are you going?"

As there was no reply, he ran after it, forgetting all thoughts of the arena. After about half an hour, he was in the city centre. The feline disappeared into an alley. _I'll sneak up on it very slowly..._

Suddenly, guns were pointed at him. Instinctively raising his hands into the air, he saw two Peacekeepers stationed about ten feet away.

"Who are you?" one of them shouted.

"Uh, I'm Heracles Karpusi."

"Aren't you a tribute? What are you doing here?" questioned the second officer.

"Well, there was a cat, and I followed it..."

"There's a force field around the Tribute Building! How could you have gotten out?"

"Window", replied Heracles vaguely.

"But...? Oh, never mind. You're coming with us. Now."

The Peacekeepers led him back to the complex. _It feels like a prison, after seeing the rest of the city. _

"Go. You're probably late for your individual training session."

"The what?"

"You really are clueless, aren't you?"

The officer shook his head. "It's when you're given the time to show your ability and competence to the Gamemakers."

The tribute went to find his mentor and was subsequently informed that yes, he was late.

"You'll have to go tomorrow, then. I'll arrange a time for you. Don't try this again."

Heracles nodded obediently, but couldn't help smiling about his little adventure.

* * *

District Eleven

"Sadiq Annan, your turn."

The aforementioned tribute walked into the room, looking a bit bored. It was the same room they'd used for training earlier. _Aw, shucks. Nobody left me any good stuff. _Most of the weapons had either disappeared, or had been stuck into (wrecked) cloth dummies. He saw that somebody had painted something on the floor with all of the camouflage paints. The picture was a larger, expanded version of the circle that the tribute from District Nine had drawn earlier. It had been filled in with blue, and had irregularly-shaped green splotches on it. Despite clearly being an abstract work, it seemed pretty well-done. He felt a tiny bit sorry for teasing the kid earlier. _For some reason, it feels like he's done something to me in the past... But that's ridiculous! I've never even met him before coming here. _

"Not to rush you or anything, but you don't have much time left." said a Gamemaker.

"All right, all right! Here."

He rummaged through a box and found a nice-sized club. Giving it a few practice swings first, he then whacked it into a row of heavy weapon shelves, which tumbled like dominoes.

"Can I go now?"

"Yes."

Sadiq left through the back door. _Finally._

* * *

District Twelve

"Today, you will start training." Arthur Kirkland's mentor stares at him intently.

"I thought we were done with that."

"You're done training with weapons. Now you have to train for the interview."

"Remind me, why is this important?"

"If you impress the audience during your interview, your probability of getting sponsors increases. And sponsors will really help you during the Games. So, today, your escort and I will attempt to increase your likability", she explains.

_Oh, joy._

"Well, you're certainly more likeable than some tributes we've had over the years. You've heard stories about Mason or Everdeen, I presume?"

"As a matter of fact, no."

"Johanna Mason was cunning. Very. She won her Games by playing weak, then massacring her opponents when the time came. She wasn't exactly friendly to people. Katniss Everdeen was from District Twelve, like us. She wasn't a kindred spirit either. But she managed to save both herself and her lover from death in the arena."

"You refer to both victors in the past tense. What happened to them?"

"They died in the third Quarter Quell, when they reaped victors from each district instead of normal citizens. Not much is known beyond that, and they don't show us any tapes. But enough of that. Let's start training."

Arthur's mentor bombarded him with questions, and he tried to answer as best as he could. Which wasn't exactly easy for one who had an unexplained case of amnesia. Finally, the lady gave up, exasperated.

"I can't help you if you apparently don't know anything about your own life. Your escort is waiting outside the door." Said escort popped her head into the room. "Hello-o! I'm ready to teach you all about correct body posture. Come with me!"

Arthur sighed. This was going to be a long day.

* * *

**I hope you like the new story title. If you have any suggestions or comments whatsoever, please tell me in a review. Thanks!**

**Oh, and i****n case you're confused about when the events in the story take place, here they are:**

**June 23: Reaping, train ride, parade**

**June 24: Training**

**June 25: Training**

**June 26: Training, private sessions with the Gamemakers (Heracles goes exploring instead)**


	4. Apprehension

**Wow, my procrastination skills are unbelievable. I've had this chapter finished a long time ago, but I've been too lazy to put it up.**

**BTW, thanks for all the favourites! If you guys have any suggestions or ideas for future chapters, I'll be more than happy to incorporate them into the story, if they're good. I'm pretty much improvising at this point, since I don't have a plot planned out.**

**If you think there's too much Sesquipedalian Loquaciousness in this story or if the plotline confuses you, please tell me.**

* * *

Backstage, Francis shifted uneasily. He would be the first tribute to be interviewed, and he knew that his life depended on this performance. _And I'll have to make up for that 5 I got in training. Though it's not my fault the Gamemakers don't count flirting as a survival skill._

"Presenting our tribute from District One, Francis Bonnefoy!"

_Okay, deep breath. You can do this._

He marched out from behind the screen, a confident look plastered on his face. Flashing the audience a regal smile, he sat down in the seat next to Caesar Flickerman II with a flourish.

"So, Francis. How do you feel about this year's Games?"

"Well," he replied, "some of those other guys look pretty tough. But I can take them."

"I'm absolutely sure you can. Now..."

The questions went on for a few minutes, and Francis answered them all flawlessly.

"What weapons do you feel at ease with?"

"Would you be ready to form an alliance with other Careers?"

"Is there anyone you love back home?"

All right, that one was hard. How was he supposed to answer such a personal question when his memory was fading more and more every day? The strange thing was, he didn't recall showing any signs of amnesia back in District One. It had started on the day he had first seen the tributes, and seemed to be progressively worsening. But getting back to the interview...

"Come on", persisted Caesar.

Startled out of his thoughts, Francis blurted out whatever came to mind.

"Well, there was Jeanne, a long time ago though, and Marie, and..."

BZZZZZZZZZ!

"That wraps up our first interview! Good luck Francis, and may the odds be ever in your favour!"

Francis shook Caesar's hand dazedly. _Where the heck did those names come from?_

* * *

"Hey there! Did you happen to see the guy from District Twelve?"

The blonde Avox shook her head nervously, then hurried off.

_What'd I do? Never mind, I've gotta find him!_

Alfred heard voices around the corner. _Aha! He's talking with his mentor._

"— prepared for tomorrow."

"Yes. Good night." The tribute walked off towards the elevators. _Here's my chance!_

"Dude!"

"Excuse me?"

"Yes, you! Come here!" Alfred dragged him in the opposite direction.

"What the — get lost, you bloody git! What are you doing? Do I even know you?" Arthur tried to escape the taller man's grip, but to no avail.

"No, but I think I know you! Let's go to the roof!"

Once the two of them arrived, the kidnapped tribute demanded in an annoyed manner:

"Now kindly explain to me why I'm here."

"I already told you, remember? I think I know you! I've never met you, but you're so familiar, it's creeping me out! You aren't a ghost, are you? I hope you aren't! Please don't be a ghost!"

"I am not a ghost, and... I think I know you as well."

_This is going better than I expected!_

"Great! Because if we work together, we'll get to the bottom of this! Allies?" he said, extending his hand. The other looked at him suspiciously, then somewhat reluctantly shook.

"Allies."

* * *

The alarm clock rang, and Eduard sat up on the bed. He hadn't really slept well, his mind filled with nightmares of the arena. _Today is the day._

He dressed quickly and went downstairs, where twelve large hovercraft were waiting outside. Climbing the ladder of the one labeled with a Three, he was suddenly frozen into place and lifted inside, where a man injected a tracker into his arm. It hurt, but he barely noticed.

Eduard watched from behind a windowpane as the hovercraft rose higher and higher, until the Training Centre disappeared under the clouds for good.

By noon they had arrived at the final destination. The arena was concealed under a large black bubble, its contents hidden from prying eyes. The landing was surprisingly gentle, nothing more than a slight bump. He was ushered alongside his stylist Xavian into a tube-like elevator, descending into the deep underground. A soft ding was heard and they entered a large chamber flooded with artificial light. The Launch Room.

"You have thirty minutes", intoned a robot-like female voice.

His stylist presented him with his outfit. "As usual, all the tributes will be wearing the same thing." A white shirt and grey pants underneath a blue overcoat. White running shoes, with even soles and long laces. While he was zipping up the jacket, his stylist asked,

"Did you bring anything from your district?"

Eduard shook his head. No. Some of the others, he knew, had taken something to remind them of home. The tribute from District Five, for example, always wore a long white scarf. _Why don't the Gamemakers take it away? It could give him an edge over the others if the arena turns out to be a freezing tundra. And he could use it to strangle people, something he seems like he'd be glad to do. What's with him, anyways? I suppose he doesn't know any better, being a tribute and all. The Games are unfair._

"The Games are unfair", he repeated out loud. _It doesn't matter. They can't do anything to me, I'm already going to die._ He half-expected Xavian to lecture him, but he only nodded in sympathy.

"I know it's tough, but you have to overcome it. There are only eleven other tributes this year, you could actually win. Win, and you won't have to worry about it anymore."

_But even if I win, it won't be over. I'll have to mentor kids and watch them die. I'll have to show up at every Hunger Games, every Victory Tour, for the rest of my life. And I have the feeling the President isn't the nicest guy when it comes to dealing with victors. For now, though, I have to focus on the arena. _

Thinking about the arena probably wasn't the best thing to do, as he was now terribly nervous. He reached for a sandwich from the platter on the table but wasn't able to eat much. _What's going to happen?_ Every passing second made him more paranoid. After a few agonizing minutes, he was almost relieved to hear the voice announce that time was up. Almost. But not quite.

"Bye," he whispered to the stylist. Trembling, he stepped into the tube in the corner of the room. _This is it..._ He felt the ground rise slowly. Instinctively, he closed his eyes. When he reopened them, expecting his first view of the arena, all that registered was darkness. Dense black clouds enshrouded the tributes, rendering them nearly invisible. He reached out to touch the strange matter. It shrank in his hand, forming a small hard ball. He heard a booming voice announce:

"Gentlemen, let the Hundredth Annual Hunger Games begin!"

Somewhere, a clock started ticking. Eduard struggled to find the Cornucopia, another tribute, anything, but the clouds obscuring his vision made it impossible. Before he knew it, the sixty seconds had passed, and the sound of a gong rang out across the arena.

He turned and ran as fast as he could, not caring where he was going. The ground felt cold, but he didn't stop to examine it. He ran until he was completely exhausted. He stopped to catch his breath.

A strong, hard hand gripped him from behind.

"You will be my ally, _da_?"

* * *

The darkness had receded somewhat since the striking of the gong. It was a good thing, for Kiku could now observe his surroundings and make his move, safely hidden behind a bush. Many tributes had fled quickly, it seemed. The only ones left at the Cornucopia were Jones from District Two, sticking his head inside the golden horn, and Kirkland from District Twelve, who seemed to be simultaneously gesturing for Jones to hurry up and looking around warily. Then there was Beilschmidt from Six, who was leaving from the opposite side with a backpack and a spear. Braginski from Five had left a while back. He thought he saw someone else too. There was a flash of blond hair, the disappearance of a large green pack, and nothing more. Whoever it was, seemed to have mastered some method of self-concealment.

"Okay!" yelled Jones, who had apparently finished scavenging for supplies. He left with Kirkland-san towards the pine forest in the distance. Kiku waited patiently until he was sure there was nobody else around, then ran to the Cornucopia. There were still many weapons and supplies left. He picked a sharp, slightly curving sword and a bag with a long shoulder strap that seemed to be satisfactorily filled. Unsure about how much he could carry and still be able to fight, he hid the rest under bushes and headed back in the direction he came in. After trekking a while, the dirt underfoot gave way to stone, and he saw a small cave up ahead. _Time to set up camp._


	5. Forming Alliances

**Yay! Chapter Five's here! **

**For some reason, I just can't seem to be able to write Russia's thoughts in first person.**

**And don't ask why I wrote China's name as Wang Yao (last name/first name) but Japan's as Kiku Honda (first name/last name). IDK either.**

* * *

Now, Ivan loved having friends. Allies worked as well. But he didn't like it when they screamed so loud. What were they afraid of? He was always there to protect them, and comfort them too.

"Hush, or the other people will come. We don't want that, do we?"

"N-no!" His new friend shook his head quickly. Ivan especially liked the obedient ones. (A good way to make them obedient, he noticed, was to tower over them with a metal pipe in hand.)

"Good! What is your name?"

"Eduard."

"Eduard? What a familiar name." Realizing something, he added hastily, "Oh, pardon me! I forgot to introduce myself! They call me Ivan."

"N-nice to meet y-you."

"Okay! Now that the clouds have gone, we can look at our supplies!"

"Sorry, I d-don't have any."

"You don't?" Ivan shook his head disapprovingly, oblivious to his violently trembling ally. "Don't worry, we can share mine! I think everybody should always share, so we'll all become one and be happy together!"

"That d-didn't work out quite s-so well last time..." muttered Eduard.

"What did you say?" Ivan leaned in curiously.

"Nothing. I don't know."

"Ah, but I've met someone else who says strange things, too! And I do that as well. Isn't it odd? Maybe it's a common characteristic among tributes! We should go ask them!"

"But just a while ago, you said we didn't want them to come!"

"I said no such thing! Silly Eduard."

"Okay," said his friend resignedly. "But can we please unpack first?"

In Ivan's backpack, they found two full bottles of water, a large sleeping bag ("we can share this!" said Ivan excitedly), some apples, a pair of binoculars, and, of all things, a megaphone.

"Now we can go find Yao! Come on!"

And they were on their way. _I'm not really sure where he is, but we'll find him eventually!_

* * *

The sun was already setting by the time Ludwig reached the seashore. _I can't set up camp here, it's too vulnerable. Better head back and look for a better spot before nightfall._

"Hey, Ludwig! I didn't know you were here too!" sang a voice behind him. "Want to ally with me?"

He spun around. _Oh. It's him._ "No."

"Please?" Feliciano begged.

"I said NO!" _These are the Hunger Games, and he will only slow me down._

The kid sniffled. "All right. I understand. Nobody wants to, anyways. I'm too small and weak and hopeless." He started to walk away, shoulders slumped. Ludwig was leaving as well when suddenly he heard Feliciano shout:

"Watch out, there's a trap!"

Indeed there was. Well-concealed under thick foliage, but still there. The auburn-haired tribute rushed over. "Ve~! You could have gotten hurt!"

"Thanks," Ludwig muttered. "You know... I guess you can be my ally if you want. You've, um, proven your usefulness."_ I will seriously regret this later._

"Yay! Thanks, Doitsu!"

"Who the hell is that?"

"I don't know!"

* * *

_I never thought my apparent invisibility would be helpful, but it is. I walked right past that Kiku guy and managed to get quite a few supplies without being noticed. Although that may have had more to do with the black clouds than anything. Now I'm safely tucked in my treetop perch, waiting for the sun to rise. Earlier the anthem played in the sky, but no faces showed up. For the first time in Hunger Games history, there was no bloodbath. If something doesn't happen soon, the audience will surely get impatient. _

Matthew heard loud voices below and was startled into falling from the tree, tumbling ten metres and managing to survive by hanging from a low branch with his fingertips.

"What was that?" someone asked. Judging from the sound, it was his lookalike/brother/whatever.

"Probably just a strong wind" retorted another voice.

"Wind doesn't sound like that — oof!"

He held in his breath. Alfred had bumped into him, revealing his presence. _Merde._

"Whoa, dude, who are you?"

_I don't have a choice, do I?_ "I'm Can- I mean Matthew," was the tribute's whispered reply. "I can be your ally, right? I have weapons and supplies up there."

"Huh? What'd you say?"

_If you weren't so thick-headed, maybe you'd have heard me..._The sky was beginning to light up with the first grey light of dawn, and he could now see the features of the two men in front of him with some clarity. The one standing beside Alfred had straw-coloured hair and incredibly bushy eyebrows. When he spoke, he sounded much more mature than his companion.

"Never mind, I heard him. He says his name is Matthew and that he wants to ally with us." There was a pause. "I suppose we should let him. At least he doesn't seem to be a complete idiot."

"Right!" exclaimed Alfred without missing a beat.

"So," Matthew leapt down from the tree, "where are we going?"

"To the mountain, of course!"

_Mountain?_ He turned around and saw a huge glacial peak that probably wasn't even three kilometres away, one that he was sure he hadn't noticed the previous day.

_O-kay then._

* * *

Don't get him wrong, Wang Yao had always believed that patience was the best virtue. Now, however, he was in an arena to fight to the death, he was hungry, and he hadn't caught a single fish yet. And so he was getting just a little... frustrated.

"What's the matter?" inquired a talking bloodthirsty carnivorous plant nearby.

"Nothing, aru. It's just that —" Wait, a TALKING BLOODTHIRSTY CARNIVOROUS PLANT? He seriously needed to start paying attention to things.

The woods around him slowly came to life. He could now see the hideous, gaping mouths of the flowers, hear the excited chatter of the grass blades ready to swallow him up. "Help!" he shouted once, before diving into the river in a desperate attempt to escape the muttations.

He swam down into the darkness, knowing that the farther he sank, the safer he would be. A swarm of killer oak leaves followed him into the shadows. Yao swam harder, thrashing violently against the mutts. They relented, and he was left in the murky waters alone. But now wasn't the time to rejoice. Even nations needed oxygen. _What's a nation again? Okay! Focus!_

Raising both arms above his head, he pushed off from the riverbed and glided upwards smoothly, leaving trails of little bubbles swirling beneath him. _Alright, I'm almost there! Just... a... little... more..._

A loud clang rang out as he bumped his head against something hard. _What the —?_ Looking up, he saw the sky and the clouds, but something wasn't right. A thick pane of glass separated him from the world above. He banged on the cold surface, but nothing happened. His vision was going fuzzy at the edges.

The last thing he registered before giving in to the darkness was a quick flash of silver hair and the glint of shiny metal.

* * *

**When he talks about "last time", Eduard is referring to the Soviet Union. I'll probably insert a random mention of history once every few chapters. /shot**

**Also, ****_merde_**** is French for ****_shit. _**

**Post-addendum: Being the INTP and grammar nazi that I am, I know very well that the last sentence is grammatically incorrect. It just seems to stand out awkwardly when put into plural, okay?**


End file.
